She turns back toward the window over the sink, takes a long, steadying breath, before forcing her feet toward it. She leans in, cupping her hands around her eyes so that the flat reflective black dissolves back into glass, revealing the night beyond. The grass rippling in the wind, the cliff, and the bench facing it. Movement twitches in the dark, and—
“What are you doing?”
Sienna nearly jumps out of her skin. She turns to find Millie, elbows on the counter, as if she’s been there the whole time.
Sienna considers telling her that she saw something—well, that shethinksshe saw something—but given Millie’s hysterics over the note on her desk, she’d probably never sleep again.
“Nothing,” she says, as Millie’s gaze flicks down to the cheese knife in her hand and then back to her face. “Just getting a snack.”
“Me too!” says Millie, a little too loud, a little too bright. Her face is flushed pink, and Sienna realizes she’s drunk.
“Great minds—and stomachs—think alike,” she hears herself say, still caught in the whiplash between the awful stillness and its unceremonious puncturing.
Tipsy laughter bubbles from Millie’s lips as she stacks alternating pieces of salami and cheddar on a cracker.
“Where is everyone?” Sienna asks as Millie pops the whole thing in her mouth.
Millie tries to answer, fails, chews several times, and then manages to get the words out. “Games room.”
Sienna looks around. “I didn’t know therewasa games room.”
Millie bobs her head and swipes two bags of chips. “Follow me!”
She sets off like a tour guide, leading Sienna briskly down the now-lit hall and into the foyer, around the table with its antler centerpiece, and down another hall. By the time they reach a pair of heavy wooden doors at the end, Sienna can almost hear the muffled voices on the other side.
Millie shoulders the door open, revealing a massive room, another motley array of furniture, along with a billiards table, a dartboard, and a wall-length bar.
Cate and Jaxon are playing pool, drinks perilously perched on the rim of the table. Kenzo is stretched out on a sofa, hands tucked behind his head and journal face down on his chest, two slips of folded purple paper sticking out. Priscilla is leaning against the bar, glasses tucked into her hair, and Malcolm’s behind it, making a considerable dent in a bottle of Macallan.
Of course.
“Look who I found!” announces Millie. Five heads swivel toward her.
Malcolm’s expression darkens. “Ah, there she is,” he says, slurring slightly. “My murderer.”
Sienna sighs. Malcolm has several modes when he’s drinking, depending on how much he’s had. There’s chipper, bawdy, horny, and maudlin, which is by far her least favorite.
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she mutters.
Millie flops down on a sofa near the pool table. “I have hunted, I have gathered,” she declares, depositing the chips onto a low table.
Sienna looks around. “What did I miss?” She tries to keep her voice light, even though the sight of them all makes her feel like the least popular kid in school.
“Not much,” says Priscilla, pouring two glasses of wine and drifting over. “I saw you working in the library,” she says, handing her one. “It looked like you were really lost inside the work.”
Sienna knows she should put on a brave face, pretend the words are flowing, but she’s too tired. “More like just lost,” she says, hoping the words don’t carry to the bar.
Luckily, no one else seems to be listening.
“Rituals are bullshit,” Jaxon’s saying as he lines up a shot. “They’re just excuses not to write.”
Kenzo’s sitting up now. “Says the man who runs and meditates and fasts instead of working.”
Millie giggles. Jaxon scowls. “Those aren’t rituals,” he says, hitting the ball too hard, so it skips. “I’m talking about scented candles and special cups and all that stuff.”
“Pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to,” says Kenzo.
Jaxon straightens, flexing the cue across his shoulders. “Interesting choice of root vegetable, given that potatoes are the main ingredient in the fermentation of rock juice. Which youknow, of course.”
